


When I Don't Remember You

by your_cringy_father



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied Death, King is creativity before split, M/M, Original Character(s), Other, Out of Character, Set before Creativity Split, Song: When I Don't Remember You, The Author Regrets Everything, Young Thomas, death but also not really, god its so out of character, logan is never this emotional, shh it'll make more sense later, this is just me throwing trauma onto logan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-09-24 04:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20352535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/your_cringy_father/pseuds/your_cringy_father
Summary: Logic has one friend in the beginning of Thomas' life. And that's King. Or at least, it WAS King.(Tw: death implication, impending doom, some general angst)Aka: You think Logan remembers Creativity before they split? You think he misses him??? You think that one song from adventure time fits this???





	1. When I Don't Remember You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NewtingMuch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NewtingMuch/gifts).

A thick cloud of morning fog rolled through the backyard, placating the normally warm and soft grass with a thin layer of frigid dew. 

It was one of those mornings where you felt the world become heated and comforting, everything coming alive in the bright gaze of the sun.

It was Logan’s favorite part of the day.   
Thomas, only just turning 6, was an early riser, and as such loved to explore the volatile foliage of his backyard before his mother could awaken and realize he wasn’t in his bed. 

And while it was technically against the rules to be outside this early, Logan had a rough time finding any flaws in the dawn light. 

Perhaps the child’s slow processing mind couldn’t develop a hard logic before he had his morning toast. 

Whatever it may be, Logan was glad it quieted his insistence of following his parent’s orders.  
Thomas snuck downstairs and flicked the backdoor lock up, wincing at the loud noise. 

He leaned up onto his toes, too short to open the door without the extra inch, and slowly opened the sliding glass door enough to squeeze through. 

The chill of the morning seeped through his clothes and he shuddered, but was nonetheless determined. He pulled a small plastic sword from his sheath wrapped like a belt around him, the two pieces being maybe of a 6$ worth before tax. It was cheaply made, not that little Thomas could tell. No, he was too lost in his imagination already. 

Still, Logic followed him at a distance, just being a watchful eye. It was strange to watch his ‘host’ at such a young age and know he would grow to be as old as Logan one day, look like him one day. Being aspects of Thomas’ personality, one would expect them to look about the same age. Yet Logan, being one of the oldest sides, was leaning into his early teen years. 

Obviously taller, longer hair, more defined face shape, he observed. Logic hoped Thomas wouldn’t completely steal his look when the time came. He was certain he wore it so much better.

“Good morning, Logic.” A voice greeted, and Logan looked up from his watchful vigil of Thomas to meet the gaze of one of his closest accomplices, if he had any of those. 

Creativity, a stouter looking side, maybe a year younger in Thomas’ projection, had come to play. 

His clothing was his idea of ‘casual’ attire. Which meant it was far too expressive for any event other than a midnight ball. Dark fabric accented with gold around its trim and buttons, a large golden decorations draped across his front and a fabric of a similar color around his waist. And resting comfortably on his plush hair was the golden crown, tipped with rubies and engraved with small flames. Truly, King-- or Creativity-- loved to be the center of attention, and it shone through in his outfits. Logic would never admit to secretly admiring it. 

Thomas squealed with joy as imaginative dogs hopped around, just out of the 6-year-old’s reach, obviously Creativity’s doing, or simply a byproduct of his infectious imaginative aura. The latter side turned and smiled, snapping his fingers to produce small sparkler affects around the child’s face. Thomas reacted thusly, swinging his sword wildly at the glittering lights with a large smile. 

“Good morning, King.” Logan returned eventually, nodding his head and taking his eyes off his ward and over to the regal figure.

“Please, Logic. We’ve discussed this before.” King’s eyes lit up in amusement. Logan snorted quietly, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. 

“I’m not calling you Creativity. It’s too long. King is shorter, easier to remember.” 

“You’re Thomas’ logic, yet you cannot spare another second on my name?” 

“Not for your title, no.” Logan bit back playfully, a small smile on his face. 

King guffawed, subconsciously keeping his voice low despite their influence not extending to the outside world. Being present and outside the mind palace like this was new to everyone, and old habits die hard.

“Stubborn as ever.” King mused.

“As it should be.” Logic smiled. He let his hands move behind his back and intertwined his fingers with one another. 

King’s presence was always one he could enjoy, even if he was being insufferable.   
It was his magnetic charm coupled with his caring nature that drew Logan towards him.   
It was a change of pace from his, leaning on babysitting, job of caring for the newer side, Morality (who had, thankfully, decided to sleep in today). 

So much so, that Logan almost melted in the quiet that settled between the two. Both of them watched their young host hop around the yard without a care in the world with envy. 

Logic glanced over at his accomplice and noticed a dull glint in his eyes, the bags under his eyes hardly covered by the obtuse amounts of foundation he had attempted to put on. His face itched to frown, this being the fourth time that week he had noticed the different behavior being exhibited by Thomas’ sole Creativity.

“King-” 

“Logan,” King interrupted, throwing the logical side into a loop by using his name instead of his occupation which was a rare occurrence between the two, “I feel as if you’re dawning on a realization and before you say a word, I need to tell you my side.” 

His eyes didn’t leave the scurrying form of Thomas as the dogs turned more and more transparent before their eventual glitch. They vanished before the duo’s eyes and Logan could feel the panic rising in his chest. 

This wasn’t normal, in fact-- if Thomas was having issues with imagination, things could take a turn very quickly for the worse. He tempered his breaths, tried not to awaken Thomas’ paranoia so early in the morning. There were things to do and being so tense this early would not be beneficial to their future work. 

King grimaced, the sweat on his forehead only a sheen of perspiration in the dim light. He let out a small shuddering breath and squeezed his eyes shut. 

A few more moments of silence, and the dogs returned, much to Thomas’ delight. Yet King stumbles, and Logan dashes forward to catch him as he takes a knee. Slowly, after some fretting from both sides, he stands once again on uneven ground.

He shook his head, but stands tall and proud. Logan could practically hear his inner dialogue; A king must stay orderly and be strong for his people. Even if ‘people’ just meant Logan. 

Logic paused, and waited patiently for an explanation.   
Hopefully, at this point, any comfort that he would be alright. King drew in a breath before starting his monologue; 

“Recently, there’s been… issues… considering my form.” He said slowly, “An event occurred, awhile ago now, and I think it’s eating away at him.” King stated, and nodded his head towards the progressively tired toddler. “Something he had read in his history books, knights and kingdoms. Led to some less than appropriate drawings.” King winced at the freshly opened memory.

“It was just good fun, Thomas likes to draw with the color red sometimes! Serves them right clutching their pearls like a kid making historically accurate art is a crime.” He grumbled as he adjusted his intricate shirt, the gold accents clinking as they bumped one another.

Logan didn’t say a word. King noticed, and took a small glance to the taller side to get a read on whether he should continue. When Logan doesn’t protest, he took his silence as encouragement.

“The teachers were not happy. Called his parents, they were so upset. Kids were talking about it the rest of the day, and then some. Now we’ve got another side to care for,” Logan burned in shame thinking of his initial thoughts on Morality, “on top of the others who refuse to properly take care of themselves and I’m losing--” He stopped his rant mid-sentence to chew on the inside of his cheek. 

“Losing my grip.” King finished, a slight twitch in his palm as if to accentuate his point. He trailed off mournfully. 

“How bad has it gotten…?” Logan breathed out, aware of his hand on King’s arm, his other in King’s spare hand that had been anxiously ringing the metallic golden buttons on his shirt. It was comforting, as King had previously explained, and kept him from ruining any of his fantastic designs. 

The creative side’s lips pressed together tightly, as if trying to stop themselves from speaking, “Sometimes it gets so terrible that I feel I can no longer breathe. It’s like being ripped apart from the inside.” Logan felt his chest tighten, King lost in the memory of his pain, “Logan I lose periods of time I cannot account for. Hurt in a way meant for two… I fear--” 

King pulled one of his hands from Logan’s and pressed it palm side inwards against his mouth. His eyes grow even more saturated, a depressing acceptance in those usually shimmery irises. Logan pretended not to understand the consequences. 

Logic nodded his head in sympathy, and the hand returned to its warm space clutched in his. 

“That… that is of no importance anymore, Logic. I need to tell you something.” Creativity said, brightened if only for the reward of remembering what he originally planned to do. His hand swooped low into the inside of his regal coat and pulled out a white envelope. 

King’s symbol, a sword crossed with a shield, was impressed upon golden wax on it. Logan’s name was written in deep blue calligraphy on the other side. 

Logan’s eyebrows furrow, “I don’t understand.” He blurts, his thumb tracing the dry ink of his name. 

“This is for you, when you need it. A part of me fears for a day where I may not… Where I may not be my same glittery self.” He forces a smile on his face, but Logan can see the wear on his features where he previously did not. “In a moment of doubt, I trust you can use this to remind you of myself. Give you a piece of my mind!” He winks.

Logan’s mind helpfully provides a memory of King handing him a signed autographed photo, and he wishes it could make him laugh like it did back then. However, he remains stoic and nods, putting the envelope into his back pocket. 

“I will.” He resigns. 

It's as if the tension in King’s muscles suddenly lifts, and a relaxed gaze meets Logan’s now intense one. For a moment, King looks like he wants to say something, but the words never leave his mouth. He instead turns to look back to Thomas, now slaying a small purple dragon with his brandished sword. 

Logan doesn’t miss the curling of fingers around his hand, (and again, the fact he’s still holding King’s hand is enough for his head to reel over) the impression of King’s painted gold nails in his calloused palm. Still, it doesn’t chase away the pall that hangs above the two as the sun rises over the small peaks of Thomas’ hometown. 

“Darius?” Logan muttered, his voice low as he recognizes it’s soon that Thomas’ mom will awaken, and their conversational time will be cut short. Formalities crumble away with Logan’s resolve to stay emotionless in this moment. If this were to be one of their only moments of repute, he would call the man his own name. 

“Yes, Logan?” King said idly, head tilted towards his parallel partner. 

“If the improbable happens,” It’s most likely probable. He knew this. Logan doesn’t care to run the numbers, but he does anyway. He knows, this will be one of their last lucid conversations. And what’s to follow will be the unknown, but it cannot end happily. He inhaled sharply.

“If that day comes, I will do my best to continue in your absence.” It sounded too robotic, too unlike the warm emotional core that Darius has done so well to bring out in him. 

Yet, the warm thumb that traced his knuckles disagreed. King’s voice is wavered as he returned, “Thank you, Logic.” 

The two of them watch the day grow warm and soft, the Floridan day soon to be a hot one, the summer sun heating up the soil and drying the grass. It should cause celebration, but all Logan can wish for is the continuing morn, just for a few moments more. 

Yet life continues on. Thomas must go inside soon, his mother preparing breakfast in the kitchen, the streets beginning to busy with cars and the day beginning. And the yawning chasm of uncertainty their futures hold is too daunting to acknowledge or move towards willingly. Yet they know they must, eventually.

But until then, they’ll watch Thomas chase the fairy tales and stories in his mind. Until then, they’ll be happy.


	2. Everything Stays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a short mini chapter i gueSS????? im OSRRY THIS MIGHT BE MORE THAN 3 CHAPTERS CAUSE LOGAN IS EMO IDFNSKLFJSKLFJSF
> 
> i need to............ have my beta reader read this one again aaaa pls newting dont kill me

The future was unexpected, and something Logan wishes he could forget. 

Heart full of pain, he watched the unexpected continue with Patton, holding his hand. He’s only physically a few years younger, but the fraternal feelings he feels for the side feels more like he’s a toddler. 

It’s why, when King screams from downstairs, he covers Patton’s ears and blocks him from what he assumes would be a gruesome visage. 

Blinding light fills the room and Logan dares not remember the time in between the disposal of Patton in his room with his toys, and the removal of the bodies left into the Imagination. 

When it happens, though, he feels surprise past the grief. Though King had spent much time with him, only the barest amount was teaching him the minor workings of it’s fabric. 

It was a practice that came with time, time that they didn’t have a lot of. 

Logan’s glad he has it though, as he conjures the three of them into a small grassy knoll, a never-setting sun in the backdrop of the strawberry sky. A tall imposing willow sitting atop the risen earth, where Logan props the two left-over bodies. 

He sits opposite of them, keeping his back to the spit-- dare he say-- twins. Though he tries hard not to think about it, it comes back again and again. 

One has his jaw, one has his shoulders, the outfits, the darker skin tones. 

A choked thought breaths through Logan’s mind of the universe thinking it was one sick joke. 

Take the one confidant the man had and make them both disgustingly mirrored in appearance. 

This was his fault, wasn’t it? 

Up the ridge comes the fancily clad man Logan has come to know only by the moniker ‘Deceit’. His face as stoic as Logic assumed his own was. 

His black boots scraped against the grass and past Logan, barely acknowledging him. 

King and him were close on occasion, fought less than Logic and Lies did for sure. Deceit didn’t need to say anything, his present air was thick was accusation. 

The two knew their job, two new sides, both of strange position, one of them belonged with either house. While good and bad were arguable concepts, it’s clear the longer they continued Thomas’ christian upbringing, the more divided the two would become. Especially without their crowning leader. 

He watches with a numb glare as Deceit walks off with another’s arm around his shoulder. The one with the darker uniform, green tints. His gaze follows them as they simply disappear out of the imagination together, no further discussion needed. Now it was his turn. 

Logan stands up stiffly, conjuring up the request Patton had made earlier. 

A light blue blanket, covered with chocolate brown puppy paws. 

His reasoning was that it always made him feel better on ‘yucky’ days and while there was no information backing up that this would help their new compatriot, Logan couldn’t bring himself to tell Patton that. 

He tosses the blanket across the remaining form. And for a moment, he simply stares. Stares at the rising and falling chest, the only sign of life in it’s stillness. And he watches him with a cold anger, that frozen chipped ice that had grown onto the life that Creativity had once brought to its warmest in his chest. 

He sits, eventually, at the feet of the other, new, Creativity. 

The courageous energies, the bold cut lines of muscle. Even his uniform was closer in style than the other side’s. 

He secretly wishes Deceit had taken this one instead. Taken the one that looks like his one friend in this life. Taken the one who’s warm complexion makes him think of sunny afternoons of thought-provoking conversation and long nights of dreaming. 

Logan dashes the bitter tears trailing down his cheeks with the back of his hand and adjusts his shirt. He weakly hopes he doesn’t look like he’s been crying over this new side, who his mind has supplied to be a Prince, rather than a King, with his younger features.

He settles in, unwilling to bring about consciousness in faithless hope that maybe this Prince would never awaken from his slumber.

And he begins his wait. 

When the Prince awakens, Logan’s landscape has fallen into dusk. He starts forward, hand instinctively reaching for something not along his waist and bumping the blanket down into the plush greenery. 

“Remember to return that,” Logic idles, “Morality is quite fond of it.” 

“H- Who? What’s going on?” Logan’s heart aches at the rich timber, the inflections so familiar. He’s sitting cross legged across from the Prince, who’s wide brown eyes drink in Logic’s form with ease.  
“Hello, Creativity. I am Logic. You are in,” Logic gestures towards the land behind him with a hand, “The mind palace, I believe. This is your domain.”  
“Creativity… yes-- That’s who I am!” The Prince says, a grin spreading across his face. 

“Indeed. We’re aspects of Thomas’ personality,” Logan explains, not bothering to regain Prince’s attention, 

“It is you, me, and Morality. There are others, however they are… currently under separate orders.” 

He chooses his words carefully, aware that if this side had gotten King’s sense of justice-- there would be trouble before the night ended. 

“Thomas?” 

“Yes, it’s the name of--”

“Name!” the prince blurts, pulling excitedly at the red sash across his chest. Logan raises an eyebrow, “I- Yes, it’s his name--”

“No, no,” Prince scowls and shakes his head looking very focused, “my name, stick bug!” He chides. 

Growing annoyed, Logan huffs, “Yes, your name? What about it?” 

“I haven’t-- I haven’t told you my name! My name is--” 

Logan’s hand shoots up and the movement stalls Prince’s voice. Logic shakes his head, almost incredulous. 

“Names are power here,” He explains, “You cannot give out your name to just anyone. I request you keep your name quiet until you grow in trust with those around you.” 

Prince’s face shallows, a look of confusion clear across his features. 

“I don’t understand-- You are logic, yeah? There isn’t another tie-wearing professor around here?” He glances around in mocking humour. 

“Yes, that is my occupation.” 

“Then that makes you the most recent damsel in distress.” Prince smirks, clearly proud of his allusion to the many disney movies Thomas watches. 

“I assure you I’m in no distress--” 

“Well I didn’t make this place!” He purses his lips, looking at the scenery around him. Logan’s face heats up, jaw clenched. 

“And if I didn’t make it, and the only other person here is you? Well, I don’t need to be a regular Sherlock to make the correct assumption here, pocket protector.” 

Logan rolls his eyes, “Sherlock doesn’t make assumptions, he makes educated guesses based off of--” 

“Oh wow, you really were desperate weren’t you?” Prince scoffs. 

Logan is taken aback, “How are YOU so sure then? 

Prince throws on his best Sherlock impression, holding his chin with his hand, “If Logic is the one required to make creative places of seclusion, then there must have been a good reason for it. That’s my job, unless you’re a recent super fan of mine,” 

He pauses to get a good look at Logic, as if seriously asking if the other had become his number one fan in less than ten minutes, “Which I seriously doubt. Not to mention, you aren’t looking too pimpin’, doctor frankenstein.” 

Logan subconsciously touches his hand to the dried tear tracks down his cheeks. It had taken too long to get himself to stop from leaking tears all over his shirt, so he simply forgot about it. 

He drags his wrist across them in an attempt to erase them from his skin.  
“See,” Prince smiles, “Damsel in distress.” 

Logan holds back a scathing retort, instead replying with; “And your point with this observation is?”

“I must know the name of the prince I need to rescue! And if not that, then you at least deserve to know mine. This way, you can sing my praises.” 

He strikes a pose, stuttering when he notices Logic’s dark eyes still cast downwards. It’s all too much. Too soon, too similar. His chest grows tight at the glimmering light of memory.”

Prince swallows thickly and scoots forward so he can softly place his hand on Logic’s shoulder. 

Logan looks up, eyes watering slightly. He curses his sudden and inevitable weakness. 

“H-hey. It’ll be okay. I didn’t mean to hit a sensitive subject. H-how about I go first instead?” 

He smiles kindly, and Logan can almost hear the wall of bravado he had so quickly constructed fall open for a moment. 

He does nothing in response, so the Prince replies with; “My name is Prince Roman.”


End file.
